


like james taylor said: you've got a friend

by helixicality



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Remus Lupin, Bullying, Eventual Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Multi, Original Character(s), POV Remus Lupin, Questioning, Remus Lupin & Lily Evans Potter Friendship, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, cause it starts when they're all babies, idk how to tag things lol, like literally so slow, this is me writing the fic i've been meaning to write for literal years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23090713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helixicality/pseuds/helixicality
Summary: 1971. A werewolf, a pureblood, an even purebloodier pureblood, and a follower.But they're more than that. Probably. At least, James likes to think they are.Or, the Remus-centric Marauders Era fic I've been meaning to write forever.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	1. August 1971

Hope Lupin had many, many skills, but hiding her irritation wasn’t one of them. 

She could hide fear. She could hide disgust. She could look at her son’s bloodied body once a month, see his scars and scabs and rips of flesh, and not react at all. Hers was a steady face. Hers were steady hands. 

It was perhaps Remus Lupin’s favorite thing about his mother: when he was crying and aching and wishing for a world that wasn’t this one, she was steady.

But not when she was annoyed, and right now she was very, very annoyed. 

She sat at the edge of her seat in their kitchen—the same tiny, yellow-tiled kitchen where Remus had eaten breakfast every day for eleven years. Her elbows rested on the table, chin on her palms. Her thumb wouldn’t stop moving. It brushed back and forth over her lip, quick and jittery, mindless. Remus couldn’t stop watching it. The more it twitched, the more nervous he got. But while Remus watched his mother, she watched someone else. Someone who had never stepped foot in their kitchen until about half an hour ago. Someone Remus couldn’t stand to stare at, like an earthed star that might burn his eyes. 

Albus Dumbledore. 

Remus knew of him by reputation only. A reputation Remus had learned of through a single, crumpled Chocolate Frog card—a remnant from the baggie of candy his father had given him upon returning from a rare trip to London last year. He was supposed to be a great wizard. An inventor. An unmatched duelist. 

And now here he was, stirring a cup of tea in Remus’s mother’s kitchen. 

“Your china’s charming, Hope,” he said, eyes twinkling, smile twinkling, glittery robes twinkling. Everything twinkling. He held up his cup, a floral-painted thing Remus secretly thought was stupidly tiny. “Delicate. I fear I’ll break off the handle.”

Hope pursed her lips. “I daresay you could fix it if you did.” 

Silence fell again. It had been falling and falling and falling since Dumbledore had arrived unannounced on the Lupins’ doorstep. He kept trying to engage Hope and Remus in conversation, but without success. Hope was too unyielding. Remus was too terrified. 

The front door swung open. 

Lyall Lupin stepped inside. He didn’t see the kitchen’s occupants right away—he was busy balancing five heavy grocery bags. His face was hidden, only his long legs and long fingers visible.

“Lyall,” said Hope. Her tone was a warning.

“I got the eggs,” said Lyall. “And the milk, and your baking powder. You know, I can read the lists you give me.”

“ _Lyall_.” Hope stood, grabbing two of the bags and dumping them unceremoniously on the floor. Remus thought he heard a few eggs crack. “We have a guest.”

Dumbledore stood, offering his hand to shake. “Mr. Lupin,” he said. “A long time it’s been, and thank goodness it’s not been longer.”

“Thank goodness” did not seem to be how Lyall would put it. His pale face had gone even paler, and his eyes were darting between Dumbledore and his son like high-speed pucks in a game of air hockey. He did not take Dumbledore’s hand. 

“Albus,” he said, enunciating slowly. It was a voice Remus recognized, the voice his father used when very, very upset, but trying not to show it. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, that should be obvious.” Dumbledore waved a hand in Remus’s direction. “I’ve come to meet your son. School starts in just a month, you know, and he should really be buying his course books. His robes. His wand, most of all. Time is of the essence, my friend.” 

School? A sick, twisty feeling bloomed in Remus’s stomach. He stood from the kitchen table, inching back toward the stairs. If he took them two at a time, he’d be in his room in only a few seconds. He could lock the door, and burrow under his covers, and hold his hands over his ears until he didn’t have to hear the word “school” anymore.

It shouldn’t have been a painful word. But it was. Oh, it was. 

As if she could hear his thoughts, Hope crossed the room to stand at Remus’s side. She clutched his shoulders, pulling him back against her so his head rested on her chest. Despite himself, Remus turned, curling into her. It was a babyish display. Embarrassing. But it soothed whatever was burrowing in his tummy. 

“Albus,” said Lyall. He’d dropped the rest of his grocery bags, and was looking at Dumbledore with an expression of forced amiableness. “I wrote to you about this when we got your first letter. We’ve decided to educate Remus at home. Hope here was taught by her parents as a girl, and it’s very important to her to pass on that tradition.”

That was a complete lie. Hope had gone to school just like everyone else. 

Dumbledore smiled genially. “Of course, of course. I wouldn’t want to insult tradition.”

“Thank you. Now, once you’ve finished your tea—”

“But what say you, young Mr. Lupin?” This was directed not to Lyall, but to Remus. Dumbledore offered him an encouraging smile, bending over somewhat to halve their sizable height difference. “Do you feel you’re being well educated here at home?”

Remus leaned further into his mother. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for words that wouldn’t come. Finally, his mother’s thumb rubbing small circles into his back, he stuttered out a response:

“Er. Well. I–I’ve learned a lot of maths. Mum says I’m–I’m well above my age level.”

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. “Good, very good. You know, I’ve always said that Hogwarts woefully undervalues mathematics. I mean, sure, we can transform tables into pigs, but can we calculate tips?”

Hogwarts. Another painful word. 

When Remus was very small, it had been an exciting prospect: going to Hogwarts, seeing the enchanted ceiling that looked like the sky, slipping on the sorting hat, making friends, friends, friends. But that dream seemed frivolous now. Remus had a more important thing to think about: survival.

Hope gave what she seemed to think was a gracious smile. “Thank you. I try to cover muggle subjects, and Lyall gives him what magical education he can. Now, if you’re done with the tea—”

“But I must wonder—” Dumbledore stared once more at Remus, and this time his gaze was not so jovial. There was something sincere in it. Something imploring. “I must wonder if your hesitancy to send Remus to school has less to do with tradition, and more to do with ill-conceived wariness about his lycanthropy.” 

Lycanthropy. Lycanthropy. The most painful word of all. 

It elicited a flurry of responses from the Lupins: a shout of “See here!” from Lyall, a withered scream from Hope, and a silent, shaking choke from Remus. He couldn’t breath. His whole body was seizing. 

No one was supposed to know. No one, ever, anywhere. 

Dumbledore waved Hope and Lyall down with an air of impatience. Still looking only at Remus, he lowered himself to his knees—quite a feat, Remus thought, for one so elderly. 

“Remus,” he said. “Would you like to go to school?”

Immediately, Remus shook his head. “I can’t.”

“That isn’t what I asked. I asked, ‘would you _like_ to?’” 

Remus would like to. He’d really, really like to.

His father cut in. “Remus isn’t an idiot,” said Lyall. “He knows what is and isn’t possible. He knows his own limitations.”

Dumbledore shrugged. “We’re people of magic,” he said. “It seems silly, doesn’t it, for us to speak of limitations.”


	2. August 1971 pt II

There were too many people in Diagon Alley. Clusters of witches and wizards, old and young, mothers with babies, men shouting about the latest Quidditch scores, shop owners calling out price cuts and discounts and two-for-one specials, squealers and laughers and chit-chatterers—it was all too much.

Remus had heard of Diagon Alley. His father had been, of course—mostly when he was a younger man, but sometimes he still visited, if the Lupins’ house cauldron had sprung a leak or Hope was running low on her favorite hairspray (much better than the muggle stuff, she said). Lyall would apparate down to London for a few hours, telling his wife and son to “lock the doors, stay inside, no Remus, no you can’t go read in the backyard if I’m not here.”

But Remus wasn’t in his backyard anymore. Or in his bedroom, or his kitchen, or even in Wales. He was in a place he’d always yearned to go, feared to go, desperately ached to go.

And it was awful.

There were too many faces. Too many eyes. He knew they weren’t looking at him—he seemed just like any other eleven-year-old, albeit a bit frailer than most. But even as their gazes flicked past, taking no notice of him whatsoever, he wanted to hide. He curled his chin into his chest, letting his dirt brown hair flop down over his eyes. His shoulders curved inward.

_They don’t know_ , he mouthed to himself, silent. _They don’t see. If they saw, they’d be screaming or something._

He wished his mother had come. She would have taken his hand in hers without asking, knowing instinctively that he was frightened. He would have pretended it embarrassed him—and maybe it would really be a bit embarrassing—but he would have clutched her right back, so tight, and the shaking in his knees would have faded.

Lyall didn’t like to hold Remus’s hand. He didn’t like to touch him much at all, really.

“Don’t stare at your shoes.” Lyall stood a few paces ahead, peering back over his shoulder at his son. “You’ll crash into people.”

He was clutching a sheet of parchment—a sheet Remus was deeply familiar with, having stared at it for hours and hours until he could recite its contents from memory.

His Hogwarts acceptance letter.

It had been a formality, of course. Dumbledore had given Remus his admittance to Hogwarts in person. But as he’d stood to leave the Lupins’ kitchen—three cups of tea later—he’d dropped the letter on their table.

Hope had hurried to open it. She’d scanned it haphazardly, then grabbed Dumbledore by the elbow before he could slip out the front door.

“We can’t afford all this,” she said. She wasn’t meek about it. Lack of money wasn’t a shameful thing to her, or to any of the Lupins. They lived a secluded life, and coin was sparse. But their seclusion—the seclusion that put Lyall out of consistent work—was a necessary thing. Nothing to fret about.

Remus sometimes fretted about it. Not for himself—he was perfectly fine not having the newest clothes, or buying the newest toys the muggle boys in town used. But he fretted for his mother. She deserved nice things, and it was really because of him she couldn’t have them.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “I see,” he said. “Well, the course books are no problem—we’ll provide Remus with those. And we can provide any necessary funds for you to purchase the rest of his supplies. He might have to get his cauldron second-hand, but I’m sure he’ll manage.” At that, he sent Remus a fleeting wink.

Remus hid behind his mother.

A few days later, a whole host of owls had swarmed through their living room window, dropping package after package on their couch. Most of them, it turned out, were books: _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ , _A History of Magic_ , _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_. A few others. All of them were a bit worn around the corners, and his copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ included a number of shocking bits of graffiti that Remus hastened to hide from Hope, but they were his. He hadn’t slept that night. After his mother had tucked him in, he’d hopped out of bed, pulled a torch from his night table, and read until dawn.

The other thing the owls delivered was less interesting to Remus, but perhaps more novel in the Lupin household: a satchel of gold galleons.

The money was now safely tucked into Lyall’s jacket. He kept patting his chest as they wandered the Diagon Alley cobblestones, as if making sure the coins hadn’t grown wings and flown away.

“Alright,” said Lyall, peering down at the letter. “Alright, alright. Now, why don’t I go pick up your cauldron—it won’t be new, I’m telling you right now, Albus barely sent us enough for a 1950 model—and your telescope, and all the rest, and you can head over to Madam Malkin’s for robes.”

Remus blinked up at him. He couldn’t be quite sure if he’d heard him right.

“You—” His little mumble was barely audible over the chaos of Diagon. “You want me to go off alone?”

It was a horrifying prospect. Hope never, ever, ever let her son wander off alone anywhere, even into town, even to visit the library, even to the next aisle at the grocery store. She said her heart started skipping when she couldn’t see her boy.

Once, in a rare spurt of rebelliousness, Remus had slipped out the back door and wandered over to the park behind the muggle elementary school. He’d met a few other children there, friendly sorts, and they’d played a pickup game of football with an old, tattered ball so deflated it gave a low thunk whenever anyone kicked it.

When night fell, he’d hurried home, giddy with success. He knew it was pathetic, to be so thrilled with himself for one day of non-disastrous socialization. But still. He was proud. He’d talked and played and maybe made friends, and no one even noticed that he wasn’t normal.

Then he saw his mother’s face.

It hadn’t been a pretty conversation. His mother had shouted for what seemed like an eternity, until Remus had to sit on his hands to keep himself from putting them over his ears. But when the screaming stopped, Hope’s eyes were wet. She kneeled down in front of her son, cupping his cheeks in her palms.

“Don’t disappear on me,” she whispered. “When you disappear, I think he came back for you. Or—or, I think they’ve taken you.”

He. Fenrir Greyback.

They. The Ministry of Magic.

But now, Lyall was shoeing Remus away impatiently. “Just meet me at Ollivander’s in an hour, alright?” He handed Remus a small handful of coins. “That’s not much, so don’t go looking at anything high-end. It’s second-hand or nothing, got it?”

Remus nodded.

Without another glance at his son, Lyall vanished into the crowd.

Luckily, Madam Malkin’s was only a few shops down. Remus hurried toward it, slipping between swinging shopping bags and pointy elbows. He darted into the store.

Inside, the noise of the street nearly shrank to nothing. It was a relief. Remus leaned back against the shop door for a moment, eyes closed, catching his breath.

When he opened his eyes, a woman stood before him, uncomfortably close. She was a short, round witch, only a few inches taller than Remus himself (who was not very tall, even by eleven-year-old standards).

“First year?”

Remus gaped at her. “Er—what?”

She smiled warmly. She had a soothing, motherly air about her—not that she reminded Remus much of his own mother. More like Tanta Kringle from _Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town_ (a film Remus had watched three times the previous holiday season).

“You’re starting at Hogwarts in the fall?” she said, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder that Remus struggled not to flinch away from. “Looking for school robes?”

Slowly, Remus nodded. Then, he remembered the coins in his pocket. “I haven’t—um, you have second-hand uniforms, right?”

To her credit, Madam Malkin didn’t react at all. She just lead him across the shop to a rack of robes that seemed a bit more worn than the others.

While Malkin busied herself holding robes up to his chest, checking their length, muttering to herself about Remus’s dainty wrists and longish arms and shoulder-to-hip ratio, Remus peered around the shop.

It was empty, thank goodness. After the crowds outside, Remus had imagined he might have to try on clothes in front of hordes of people.

“Hold your arms up and stare straight ahead,” said Malkin, calling back Remus’s attention. He followed her instructions, and immediately a long tape measurer began to dance around his body, stretching from finger tip to finger tip, down to his toes, around his thighs and biceps and the crown of his head. He wasn’t sure what the point was, since Malkin seemed to be barely paying attention to the measurements at all. She was already sticking pins into the hem of one of the less weathered sets of robes.

“I think these used to belong to a girl,” she said, “so they’re tailored for slim shoulders, which is good for you, but we may have to take them in around the chest—oh!”

The shop door had swung open. Remus didn’t turn to look—he’d been told to stare straight ahead, after all—but he heard footsteps behind him.

“One moment, dear,” said Malkin, hurriedly dropping the girl’s robes over Remus’s head and bounding away to greet her new customers. The tape measurer dropped down to the floor.

Remus wasn’t sure if he was allowed to move, so he compromised by keeping his arms up, but turning slightly so he could see the newcomers.

Two teenage girls had entered the shop, followed by a younger boy who might have been Remus’s age, or a year or two older.

The first girl, the taller of the two, was strikingly pretty. She had long, dark hair with harsh, uniform bangs, and wore clothing that might have been taken straight from a trendy muggle magazine: a yellow knit mini-dress with a belt hanging low on her hips, with black, buckled shoes and white lace tights. She had a willowy build, like she might easily snap in half.

The other girl was also pretty, but only objectively. Unlike her fellow, she was dressed in the most non-muggle of fashions: billowy blue robes. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a bun.

The boy, meanwhile—well, he was pretty, too. He was wearing robes, but open over casual muggle clothing, jeans and a button-up shirt. He had very big, dark eyes, but they didn’t make him look childish—not like Remus’s own owlish, ever-blinking things. He looked like a miniature gentleman.

Malkin gave the threesome a little bow. “Ah, Miss Black, Miss Black, Mr. Black. A pleasure and a privilege to see you. Are you shopping for school?”

The dark-haired girl clapped the blonde on her shoulder. “Cissy here thinks she needs a new hat.”

The blonde—Cissy—shot her a glare. “I _do_. The other one doesn’t sit right on my head.”

The brunette shrugged. “Maybe your head’s just misshapen.”

Behind them, the boy stifled a snort.

Taking note of the sound, Malkin gave him a little wave. “And you? Starting at Hogwarts this year, aren’t you?”

The boy stood up straight, shoulders back, a fierce gleam of pride in his eyes. “Yup. Finally gonna see what all the fuss is about.”

Ah. So this boy would be one of Remus’s classmates. If Remus was a different sort of person, he might have gone over to introduce himself. But instead, he just lowered his arms, shrinking back against the wall, hoping the Blacks wouldn’t notice him.

But Malkin wouldn’t allow for that.

“Oh, wonderful!” she said. “You know, that other boy—oh, where’d he go? You!” She gestured at Remus, beckoning him over. “He’s a first year, too.”

Slowly, three pairs of Black eyes staring blankly in his direction, Remus made his way toward the group. He raised his hand in a swift, jerky hello.

“Er—hi.” It was not the most eloquent of greetings, but then Remus wasn’t the most eloquent of people.

The boy stuck out his hand. “I’m Sirius,” he said, all confidence and poise and well-trained manners, “Sirius Black.”

Remus stared at the hand for one beat too long, silent.

Sirius, no doubt the sort of well-bred person who knew how to handle awkward social situations, filled the conversation gap. He gestured to the girls. “And these are my cousins: Narcissa and Andromeda.”

Behind him, Narcissa was watching Remus with a faint smirk. “You know,” she said, eyes darting up and down Remus’s body, “I think those might have been my robes, when I was a third year. I remember the fray at the hem.”

Remus felt his cheeks go pink. It was one thing not to be embarrassed about money in front of his family, but it was quite another to have it be pointed out by some well-off stranger.

The brunette—Andromeda, apparently—tsked. “Cissy, you know you’ve never donated a single thing in your life. Any robe you wore in third year is still tucked away in your closet, gathering dust.”

“Better than in here, getting bought up by some muggleborn who’s apparently never learned to say hello.”

There were many ways Remus could have responded to that. He might have mentioned that he was not, in fact, a muggleborn, not that it mattered. He might have finally proven that he did indeed know how to say hello. He might have simply told this Narcissa girl to fuck off.

Instead, to his horror, he felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Before anyone could notice—or at least, before the tears could actually spill down his cheeks—Remus turned and fled from the store.

Behind him, Malkin gave a half-hearted call of, “Darling, you’ve got to pay for those,” but he hurried on, pushing between shoppers and angrily wiping his eyes. But no matter how hard he wiped, the tears were falling in earnest now. Tiny, fragile sobs were escaping between his lips.

It was stupid. Some mean girl in a clothes shop should hardly be able to hurt him. And yet, the embarrassment, the overwhelming cringe of it all, was overpowering.

He shouldn’t have run. It would have been less awful if he’d just told her to go shove her new hat up her butt. But he didn’t have that sort of bravery. He was a cowering thing, always. Pain came to him, and he cried his way through it until it decided to leave him alone.

Lyall found him on a bench in front of Ollivander’s, cheeks wet. They stared at each other for a few heavy moments, until Lyall heaved a sigh.

“I can’t send you anywhere alone, can I?”

Remus wondered if they were both thinking the same thing: in a matter of weeks, Remus was meant to head off to Hogwarts, truly alone for the first time in his life. And without a parent to protect him, who knew the myriad ways he might mess up?

Some mess-ups would be worse than a brief humiliation in a shop. Some mess-ups could ruin his life. His parents’ lives.

Some mess-ups could get him killed.

Still shaking his head, Lyall guided Remus into the wand shop, then back down the street to Madam Malkins (now, thankfully, empty). They finished their shopping in silence.


	3. September 1971

The night before he was due to step onto the Hogwarts Express for the first time, Remus couldn’t sleep. He sat up in bed, wide-eyed and restless, staring at the clock on the wall.

10:50 pm. _What if none of my dorm mates like me?_

11:13 pm. _What if I trip on my way to try on the Sorting Hat, and everyone teases me for it for the next seven years?_

11:37 pm. _What if it turns out I’m only good at muggle maths, and can’t do magic at all?_

11:59 pm. _What if I get loose and maul another student?_

12:00 am. 12:00 am. 12:00 am. God, it was today. Today, September 1, 1971: Remus Lupin was going to school. Parents, hide your children.

Unable to stand it anymore, he crawled out of bed, soundless. Clutching his stuffed kitten Esther (a toy that was as much a comfort as it was a humiliation, and which he had firmly told his mother he would not be bringing to Hogwarts), he tiptoed to the top of the stairs, peering down into the dimness below.

He could hear voices. His parents’ voices. They were murmuring to each other, fervent and jagged, harsh despite their low volume.

Slowly, barely breathing, Remus inched down the stairs, careful not to step on the creaky spots. He sat on the bottom step and strained to listen in on his parents’ conversation.

“I don’t like it,” Hope was saying. “Not at all. It’s not necessary. Useless risk, absolutely pointless.”

“Hope—”

“I mean, what good’s going to come of it? He’ll get a degree he won’t even be allowed to use.”

Remus flinched. They were talking about him. Of course they were. If he was up late, worried about tomorrow, they were surely ten times more worried.

Lyall sighed. “Who’s to say what his job prospects will be?” he said, though he sounded dubious. “Maybe one day everyone will be clambering to hire his sort. Maybe someone will do a study and find they’re twice as productive.”

There was a thud—Hope’s hand against the table, probably. “It’s not funny,” she hissed. “He—do you know what could happen to him there? What people would _do,_ if they realized their children had been going to school with a—”

“I know far better than you,” said Lyall, and his tone bore no argument. It was Remus’s father at his most stern, his most cold. “I’ve actually _seen_ what they do, Hope. What they did just last month, to that Irish one who escaped his chains and bit that poor little girl.”

Remus shuddered. It was his greatest nightmare: the wolf freeing itself from its monthly binding, attacking some innocent person, passing on its disease to someone else. Any day, Remus might wake from his transformation as a murderer. He’d never be able to clean the blood from his hands. Or, more aptly, from his teeth.

There was a quiet gasp from the kitchen—a fragile, half-contained sound. Hope, certainly. Lyall didn’t show emotion like that. Hope was steady for her son, but when she felt things, she felt them hard. Lyall rarely seemed to feel anything, at least not that Remus could see.

“I just—” Hope’s voice was even quieter now, barely audible at all. “I want him to be safe. I _need_ him to be safe.”

Lyall tutted. “You’d do better worrying about keeping the other kids safe from him.”

Remus couldn’t listen anymore. If he did, he’d start crying, and he wouldn’t be able to control his volume, and his parents would know he’d been eavesdropping. As quietly as possible, he hurried back to his bedroom. He burrowed under his covers, pulling the blanket up over his head, blocking out the world.

As much as he wanted to disregard his parents’ words, to throw his mother’s fears aside as maternal anxiety, he knew they were right. For so long, school had been something he’d simply had to accept wasn’t in the cards for him. Like a fulfilling career as Minister of Magic. Like getting married (because who would ever _choose_ to share a life with him?). Like ever seeing the full moon again.

When Dumbledore came to the Lupins’ home, he’d brought new possibility, a road in life Remus had never dreamed he’d be able to take. But nothing Dumbledore ever did would remove the reality: he was bringing a monster into his school.

* * *

The next morning, Hope got Remus out of bed before the sun rose, guiding him through a final check of his packing. She made a last entreatment that he put Esther in his trunk, but he firmly sat the doll back on his bed, giving her a last squeeze before saying goodbye.

He was already going to be the only student who turned into an animal once a month. He didn’t need to also be the only student who still slept with a cuddle buddy.

He lugged his trunk downstairs, where his father was waiting by the door. There in the entry way, Hope gave her son her last farewell. She wrapped him in her arms, holding him tight to her chest and rocking back and forth.

“You can always come home,” she murmured. “If you don’t like it there, or… or if it feels too dangerous. We’ll be here. You can always come home to us.”

Remus burrowed further into her embrace. He couldn’t believe he was about to spend weeks and weeks, whole months, without his mother. She was the most constant person in his world. He’d never existed without her nearby, watching over him, protective and soft and unconditionally loving.

No one, ever, would care for him like she did. Not only because she was his mother, but because she was the only person who would ever know the whole truth of him and be capable of fully loving him anyway.

He felt a clap on his shoulder—Lyall.

“Come on, then,” he said, gruff. “No point to any of this if we’re late.” He pulled Remus’s trunk outside. Remus slumped out behind him. Hope followed, leaning against the door frame, watching them walk away with teary eyes. The last thing Remus saw before his father grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the oppressive blackness of side-along apparition was his mother waving goodbye.

Apparition was desperately unpleasant. Remus didn’t do it often—he rarely left home—but when he did it was a thoroughly negative experience. Luckily, though, he had a strong pain tolerance. Monthly agony did that to a person.

When Remus could breathe again, he opened his eyes to find that he and his father were standing in a small London alley. They were alone, but just down the road a huge crowd passed by the alley opening.

“This way,” said Lyall. Still holding Remus’s trunk, he guided his son into the parade of commuters.

King’s Cross Station, it turned out, was only a minute’s walk away. It loomed up, huge and busy and seemingly so _muggle_. It was almost ridiculous to think that somewhere behind those walls was one of the most magical of magical places.

Lyall didn’t go inside. He stopped just outside the station doors, passing the trunk handle to Remus. “Well,” he said, “have a good semester.”

Remus nodded.

They stared at each other for a moment, both daring the other to say something, make some grand proclamation of emotion, move for a hug. Neither of them seemed inclined.

“Write your mother,” said Lyall finally. “As often as possible. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

Remus nodded again.

“You’ve got your ticket?”

Nod.

“You know how to get on the platform?”

Nod.

“Good. Well—” With a last clap on his son’s shoulder, Lyall disappeared back into the crowd.

Alone now, and feeling his solitude like a piece of ice against the back of his neck, Remus entered the station, pulling his trunk along behind him. He pushed through the crowds, peering up at the signs as he passed: Platform 6, Platform 7, Platform 8…

Platform 9. And there, between 9 and 10: a brick barrier.

Checking quickly to make sure no one was paying him any attention, Remus grit his teeth and, feeling abominably foolish, walked straight through the wall.

The sounds of King’s Cross faded, but were replaced instantly with a new type of cacophony: owls hooting, a train whistle blowing, toads ribbeting, shouts of “ _Accio_ owl cage!” or “Where’d mum go?” Witches and wizards—some in muggle clothing, some in long, colorful robes—bustled across the platform. Older students ran to reunite with their friends. Teenage couples separated by summer vacation greeted each other with eyebrow-raising displays of their adoration. Parents fretted over their soon-to-be-departed charges.

And there, behind it all: the Hogwarts Express.

It was all a bit much. Even as he tried desperately to take it all in, to absorb every detail, the sound and color and hectic movement stabbed against Remus’s head.

He didn’t realize he’d frozen in place until an older boy came through the barrier, crashing into Remus’s back. He didn’t look twice at Remus, just shot him a quick “Sorry, mate” before running off into the crowd.

Timidly, Remus pushed toward the train. If he hurried, he might be able to get onboard and find an empty compartment before the other students took all the seats.

Halfway to the tracks, he jerked to a stop. There, just a few feet away, were three familiar faces: the two girls and the boy from Madam Malkins. They were accompanied by four adults, two wizards and two witches, all wearing identical terse, haughty expressions.

One of the women stood before the boy—Sirius—and was busy checking that not a single one of his dark hairs had fallen out of place. “Remember, Siri,” she said, tucking a strand behind his ear, “while you’re at school, you’re a representative of our family. You’re not just a student. You’re not just _you_. You’re a Black, which means every one of your actions reflects back on us. Do you understand me?”

Sirius nodded. “Yes, mother.”

The brunette cousin, Andromeda, threw an arm around Sirius’s shoulders, shaking him a bit and knocking his carefully arranged hair slightly askew. “Aw, don’t worry, Aunt Walburga,” she said. “Cissy and I will keep Siri on the straight and narrow.”

Narcissa shrugged noncommittally, but the assurance seemed enough for the adults, because they wandered off soon after. They passed Remus on their way to the barrier, not affording him even the briefest of glances.

Free of parents, Narcissa turned toward her younger cousin. “Look, don’t bother me on the train, got it? Lucius and I are meeting some very important people.”

Andromeda wrinkled her nose. “You’re just sitting with the other prefects, Cissy, you’re not having brunch with the Minister.”

Sirius shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Not much keen on watching you and Lucy tongue each other all day anyway.”

Narcissa swatted him upside the head. “I told you not to _call_ him—”

But Sirius had already danced away, darting toward the train without a backward glance at his family. Remus took note of which car he’d entered. It was one to avoid. Remus had no interest in interacting with Sirius any time soon—not after the awfulness of Diagon Alley.

Before Narcissa and Andromeda could notice him watching them, he pulled his trunk down the station, all the way to the last car. Clambering aboard, he tucked himself into the first empty compartment he could find. He shut the door behind him and pulled down the blinds. Hopefully, he could enjoy a nice, solitary trip to Scotland.

After all, no one could discover his secret if they never noticed him at all. No one would think him a monster if they never thought about him.

There was so much safety in loneliness. Quiet, like the peacefulness under his bed covers at home, was a shield.

Curling up against the window, Remus pulled out a textbook— _Hogwarts, a History_. If he was going to spend seven years there, he’d need to be an expert.


	4. September 1971 pt II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp. my university is shutting down for the rest of the semester because of corona, so i'm heavily Bummed atm. but, on the bright side, more time to practice writing!
> 
> also, thank you to anyone who's read/commented/kudos-ed so far. ya'll are nice, and it's cool to think that this thing i'm writing for funsies is being enjoyed by even one other person.

Remus Lupin had many secrets. One, of course, was the secret-to-end-all-secrets, the big one, the life-ruiner, the secret that sat at the core of his soul. But others were quieter. Smaller. They were secrets that normal, human eleven-year-olds might even share:

He’d never successfully blown a gum bubble.

He’d listened to that American singer John Denver’s “Sunshine on My Shoulders” more than a hundred times since his mother bought the album last Spring.

He was frightened of dogs.

He didn’t know how to swim.

It was this last secret that sat central in Remus’s mind as he lowered himself into a tiny, self-rowing boat. It wobbled underneath him, and Remus had a sudden, vivid vision: himself, tipping into the black, glassy water below, drowning before he ever even stepped foot into Hogwarts.

He gripped his bench harder.

Around him, a few dozen first years scampered into boats, some calling to friends to sit with them, others slipping awkwardly and silently into their seats. The huge man with the lantern and the booming voice—Hagrid—had told them that each boat would take four people, but it seemed many students were taking that as a loose guideline. One boat had nine squealing girls crammed together, sitting on each other’s laps.

Apart from himself, Remus’s boat was empty.

“Er—hi.”

Remus blinked up. Standing on the bank, looking down at him, was a redheaded witch. She was tiny, even by first year standards, with a cute, wholesome face like a _Brady Bunch_ kid. Her hair was tied in two long, tuggable plaits.

A beat too late, Remus remembered to smile. “Hi.”

“Would it be alright if we shared with you?” She pointed at the empty bench across from Remus.

He nodded hurriedly.

With a peculiar, non-magical sort of magic, the redheaded girl reached back into the crowd and produced another boy, yanking him forward by the wrist. He was small but angular, gangly despite his lack of height. He had longish, lank hair, and his nose jutted out like it had been taken from a much older, larger man’s face.

“This is Sev,” the girl chirped, climbing into the boat.

The boy cringed a bit. “Severus,” he corrected, barely more than a mumble. Then he nudged his elbow into the girl’s side, smiling as he did it as if very, very pleased to have the privilege. “This is Lily.”

Remus nodded. He was very conscious of how much space in the boat he took up, very aware of the scant inches between his knees and theirs. Just a slight shift, and they’d accidentally bump into him. One rock of the boat, and they’d be touching an animal. And they wouldn’t even know it.

It was an uncomfortable thought.

The boy—Severus—cleared his throat. “And _you_ are…?”

Remus blinked, startled. It took him a few embarrassing seconds to remember his own name. “Remus. Remus Lupin.”

Lily grinned. “That’s a fun name. You and Sev—you both have such fun names. Mine’s damnably boring.

Severus snorted. “If my name was so fun, you wouldn’t always be shortening it.”

“No, no, the shortening’s _part_ of the fun.”

It had quickly become apparent to Remus that Lily and Severus were not two random first years who’d become fast friends aboard the train. They were _actual_ friends. Friends with shared memories, friends who were comfortable enough in their mutual love for each other that they could poke fun without fearing hurt feelings.

It was both intimidating and relieving: intimidating because Remus knew immediately he could never measure up to a relationship like that, and relieving because it allowed him to slip easily from the conversation. For the rest of the ride to the castle, he kept his mouth quite firmly shut.

Well, except for once: the first time Remus saw Hogwarts, with its towers and gates and gargoyles, his lips parted with an audible gasp. It was beautiful. Like a dream, if his dreams were better crafted.

It had to be a lie. Nothing that wonderful would open its doors to him. Any second, the mirage would show itself, and the castle would fade into empty air.

But it didn’t. The school stayed quite solid, even when Remus climbed out of the boat and brushed his fingers up against its walls, checking that it was really, firmly there.

The first years followed Hagrid inside. Remus thought his neck would soon snap from all the twisting it was doing, trying to see every inch of his surroundings. Beside him, a roundish boy with sandy, unkempt hair was gaping as though his jaw might fall right off his face. He looked rather silly, but Remus selfishly appreciated it. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one so affected.

Hagrid brought the students into a small room. They piled in one after another, stepping on each other’s robes and elbowing each other in the side.

There, standing at the front of the group, was a tall, stern-looking witch. She wore deep green robes with prim purple accents, and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her posture was impeccable. She was the sort of woman, Remus thought, who knew how to give a proper talking-to.

He had to force himself not to duck down and stare at his shoes.

“Welcome,” said the witch. “Welcome, first years. I am, of course, quite pleased to introduce you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—though not so pleased, I’m sure, as you are to finally be here.” She placed a hand over her chest, bowing a little in greeting. “I am Professor McGonagall. I teach transfiguration here, and am the head of Gryffindor House.”

A loud “Whoop!” rang out from the back of the room. As one, the students—and the professor—peered back to find a rather tall, messy-haired boy looking very pleased with himself. He pushed his spectacles up his nose, grinning crookedly.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

The boy shrugged. He seemed astoundingly at ease with dozens of eyes trained in his direction. “Well, you know,” he said. “Go Gryffindor, or whatever.”

McGonagall’s other eyebrow rose to match the first. “Hm,” she said. “While I appreciate the love for my House, I do hope you’ll refrain from such outbursts during the Sorting.”

The word “Sorting” was as powerful as any incantation. The students fell tense and quiet, listening intently. McGonagall explained, giving only the most practical of details, the four Houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. There was something in there about points, and about a cup, and about dormitories, but Remus couldn’t quite take it all in. He was just hearing the names, over and over:

Gryffindor. Slytherin. Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff.

God, what if none of them wanted him? That had to happen sometimes, didn’t it?

Before he could calm himself, before he could quite convince himself that Dumbledore wouldn’t bring him here just to chuck him back out, McGonagall was leading the students into a huge, opulent eating hall. The Great Hall. Remus had learned all about it in _Hogwarts, A History_. He peered upward. The sky-reflecting ceiling didn’t disappoint: stars and clouds and a nearly-full moon swam overhead.

The first years stood clumped together in the middle of the room. Two long tables filled with older students were set up on either side, each with colored banners hung overhead: green and blue to one side, yellow and red on the other. At the front of the room, a row of adult witches and wizards—teachers, Remus presumed—peered curiously down at them.

And there, in the prime spot for the whole room to see it: a stool, upon which perched a large, raggedy hat.

There was silence. A few of the first years shifted uncomfortably, unsure what everyone was waiting for. And then, the hat began to sing.

It didn’t have quite a mouth. Not with teeth and a tongue or anything like that. But it had a hole, and sound was certainly coming out.

It was a long song, long enough that Remus’s knees began to twinge from standing still, but he got the gist of it:

Gryffindor: bravery, chivalrousness.

Ravenclaw: smarts, creativity.

Slytherin: cunning, ambition.

Hufflepuff: hard work, loyalty. Or, it seemed, any trait at all, since Hufflepuff took any student left over.

Remus would probably be a Hufflepuff. It seemed a nice prospect: good people, in a House founded by a woman who believed in universal education. Remus looked terrible in yellow—it clashed with the occasional sickly green of his skin—but something calmed in his chest at the thought of being placed there. 

When the hat finished its song, McGonagall stepped forward again, holding a long roll of parchment. She cleared her throat, and called out a name:

“Abledeen, Miranda.”

A little blonde girl with chubby cheeks and a nervous grin stumbled toward the stool. She sat right on the edge, bouncing a bit, and McGonagall dropped the hat down over her eyes.

The crowd waited. Five seconds. Fifteen. Nearly thirty seconds in, the hat opened its hole again, and a shout rang through the room: “RAVENCLAW!”

The table under the blue banners burst into cheers. Looking rather flushed, but grinning even wider now, Miranda scurried off to join them.

The next two students (“Allgood, Marshall” and “Becker, Paul”) were both sorted into Hufflepuff. They looked like friendly boys. Remus could stomach the thought of living with them for seven years.

Then: “Black, Sirius.”

Remus knew at once that this sorting was a little different from the others. Across the room, the Slytherin students sat up straight and attentive. Narcissa and Andromeda—dressed identically now, and seated right in the middle of the row—shifted, opening a spot between them.

Sirius stepped forward. He looked just as he had in Madam Malkin’s and on the platform: put-together, poised, confident. He didn’t quail under the attention of the room. He didn’t seem to even acknowledge it.

The last thing Remus saw before the hat fell over Sirius’s eyes was the boy’s jaw locking, like someone preparing for a fight.

And then… nothing.

The seconds ticked on, and soon became minutes. At the Slytherin table, students were shooting glances at the Black sisters, but the girls didn’t waiver. They just stared at their cousin, unblinking. When the silence stretched on, kids at the other tables began to whisper into each other’s ears. One, a Ravenclaw girl sitting mere feet from Remus, muttered just loudly enough for him to hear: “Narcissa’s sorting took less than a second. I remember it.”

Finally, the hat opened its mouth. As if enjoying the anticipation, it hung open for a second, unspeaking. Then:

“GRYFFINDOR!”

No one clapped. Around the room, eyes had widened in shock. Then, there were the laughs—awkward titters, quickly stifled. The whispers. The too-loud exclamations of “Oh my god.”

Sirius pulled the hat off his head. Remus expected him to look embarrassed, horrified. He expected him to be looking desperately at his cousins, wondering what to do.

But he wasn’t doing any of that. He was smiling.

It was a strained smile, a tremulous one, but a smile nonetheless. There was something fiercely triumphant in his eyes.

His smile seemed to shock the Gryffindor table awake. Suddenly, they were cheering. Some of it was a bit mean-spirited: a redheaded upperclassman shouting “What was that you were saying about blood traitors, Cissy?” across the room, another girl sending the Slytherins a rather rude gesture. But most of it was kind. Most of it was just like how any other student had been cheered.

But when Sirius was half-way to Gryffindor table, about to take his seat, a new sound erupted from the Slytherins. A laugh, but without humor.

Narcissa was giggling. Then, clear as a bell, she called out: “Oh, Siri. Darling. Your mother’s going to absolutely _murder_ you.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before her sister was smacking her upside the head, hissing something too quiet for Remus to hear.

But Sirius didn’t seem concerned. He just strutted off to the Gryffindor table, not giving his family another glance, and took his seat. 

The rest of the Sorting was far less dramatic. Student after student tried on the hat, and student after student was shoved to one table or another. The girl from the boat, Lily, joined Sirius at the Gryffindor table, though Remus noticed she looked pointedly away from him as she sat down.

And finally: “Lupin, Remus.”

Oh, god. Oh, no. Oh, Jesus crapping Christ. Somehow, in the excitement of watching other kids get sorted, Remus had forgotten himself.

Up at the teacher’s table, Dumbledore—looking very grand in sweeping silver and mauve robes—shot Remus a quick wink.

Moving at sub-glacial pace, Remus approached the stool. The eyes of the crowd stabbed at him, like tiny, anxiety-inducing needles. He could feel his whole body. Every shaky atom. Every mis-made limb.

More to block out his fellow students than out of any desire to get Sorted, he crammed the hat quickly over his head. His vision went dark.

Then, a voice:

_Ah. Well, this is rather novel._

Remus tensed. His fingers clenched around the seat of the stool.

_I’ve sorted hundreds, thousands, uncountable numbers of Hogwarts students, and never once have I encountered a werewolf._

The words were a punch straight to the stomach. Though he knew the hat spoke to him alone, he didn’t like any sentient creature—even an older-than-vintage accessory—recognizing him for what he was. Imagine if the hat opened its hole, and instead of screaming out a House name, simply shouted “LYCANTHROPE!” for all the school to hear.

_Oh, don’t be fussy._ The hat sounded vaguely amused. _What do I care what you turn into once a month? Now, let’s see inside that head…_

Hufflepuff. Remus thought the word, hard. Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff.

The hat hummed. _Perhaps. You certainly would do fine there. But is it the_ best _place? I could put you in Slytherin, of course… a secret like yours requires cunning to keep, and you’ve definitely got drive. Drive to show what you can do. Drive to prove the world wrong._

Prove the world wrong? What was the hat talking about? As far as Remus could tell, the world was spot on about him.

_Ravenclaw could work, too_ , the hat continued. _You’ve got a solid enough brain._

Remus thought of his muggle maths, his books. Ravenclaw might not be too bad. He liked learning. Though if anyone was likely to discover what he was, it would be one of them. Best to stay away.

_That’s true_. The hat tutted in thoughtful agreement. _Ah, but see here: beneath brains and cunning, beneath anything else… you’ve got quite the spine._

Remus let out a snort. A spine? Remus, with his tears and his fear and the way he cowered every month without fail, crying and screaming and begging for the pain to stop? Remus didn’t have a spine. Remus was the definition of spineless.

_Oh, no_ , said the hat. _You’ve got bravery for miles. Bravery for days. More courage than most adult wizards ever have._

Remus could see where this was going, and he didn’t much like it.

_Yes._ The hat sounded quite self-satisfied. _Yes, that’s right. You’ll do just perfectly in…_ “GRYFFINDOR!”

The last word rang through the Great Hall, thunderous. Remus slipped the hat from his head. Distantly, he could see the Gryffindor table cheering, little Lily clapping wildly and beckoning him over. On numb, shaky legs, he crossed the room and collapsed into a seat across from her.

He focused on breathing. In, out. In, out. As the attention of the room left him, moving to the next student (a black girl with dyed pink streaks in her hair called “Macdonald, Mary”), his heartbeat slowly settled.

It all went by very quickly after that. More Gryffindors were collected: Mary; a scrawny blonde girl named Marlene McKinnon; the round, sandy-haired boy, who turned out to be called Peter Pettigrew and who took an even longer time to be sorted than Sirius; a set of identical twin girls called Olivia and Charlotte Pike; and, unsurprisingly, the boy who’d whoop-ed at McGonagall, who was apparently named James Potter.

The other boy from the boat, Severus, was sent over to Slytherin. Lily gave a resigned pout.

When the last student was Sorted, McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and whisked them away. It was over. Remus was officially, truly a Hogwarts student.

For the briefest moment, his heart surged with an unfathomable sort of joy. Somehow, even when Dumbledore had shown up in his kitchen in Wales, even when he’d gotten his course books, even when he’d stepped on the train, Remus hadn’t genuinely believed he’d really be able to do it.

But here he was. Doing it.

The glee, however, was short-lived. Because just as the plates and platters filled—gloriously—with food, Sirius Black leaned across the table, staring at Remus.

“Hey,” he said. “We’ve met, right?”


End file.
